


Grapefruits

by Wandering_Moose



Category: Left 4 Dead
Genre: Blood, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Moose/pseuds/Wandering_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grapefruits or: How The Hunter Stopped Worrying About Not Being Able to See and Loved Being Blind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapefruits

In life, a human is expected to be able to tell real from fake, to be able to tell how far something is from your face, to be able to tell who you're talking to and to be able to know that you're living and breathing in a real reality. When you die, your life is snuffed out like a burning candle before you go to bed. When you come back from death, well, things get a little mixed and matched when it comes to senses and what you can be expected to be able to do.

The Hunter used to be a normal man, or, at least he hoped he was once. Maybe he was the world's worst person, he wouldn't have remembered anything at this point other than he needed to do something, but what it was he didn't know. There was something biting at the back of his brain, he needed to do something, he needed to satisfy an urge...but he didn't know what the urge was. He could hardly even see at this point, so what good would come from trying to do something that you found unattainable?

Not long after being brought into the hellscape that was undeath, the Hunter knew something was wrong. For starters, he felt cold. As cold as a winter night in Nome, Alaska while you're locked out of your house naked. When he moved, everything felt dulled down. It was like he hadn't slept in weeks, like someone had just taken his nerves and made it so when his muscles creaked and moved it felt dull, unless he was jumping. That was the only thing that felt absolutely normal. He remembered the first time he tried to talk, the only sound that came out was a pathetic little phlegm filled squelch.

He couldn't be expected to be able to do anything that a normal and living, breathing being could be expected to be able to do. The Hunter wanted to walk and talk, he wanted to just live again. He didn't know what this state of being was, but he didn't like it. It all just felt wrong, every step he'd take and every move he'd make felt like it was against everything nature had ever intended. It was cliched, but it was almost like losing your soul. It was like being an empty meat-sack, you felt and you moved about, but there was nothing else substantial inside your head.

From what the Hunter could even remember about the time before he was a cold husk (which, admittedly, wasn't very much) life was...nice. He knew people, he felt comfortably warm, and he didn't have a metaphorical cold ball in his stomach 24/7. He had friends...friends? Maybe “slightly well off acquaintances” was putting it better. He could eat and feel normal, he could see everything in such clear definition he could have counted the leaves on a tree if he had the time to do so. He could walk and run without feeling like someone had taken sandpaper to his body and whittled away at everything meaningful.

He was torn up about it, to say the least, but the one thing that brought outright hatred from the pit of his stomach was what had happened to his sight. He couldn't see anything but silhouettes, he couldn't see any more detail than a dark smudge on a blurry blob. And whenever he tried to honestly look at anything, he could feel his eyes throbbing with the strain that put on them. His eyes felt like they had each swollen to the size of a grapefruit and were stretching out their sockets by just remaining in his head.

They oozed some sick, slightly thickened, smelly juices that the Hunter honestly couldn't identify. He couldn't even tell what it looked like, other than really orange-yellow juices that contrasted sharply against the dark blob that was his sweatshirt's sleeve. It always seemed to dribble from what he thought was his hand to midway down his arm whenever he would lightly rub his eyes, almost as if his eyes would burst and coat his arm in that eye-juice if he rubbed them any harder.

Truth be told, he would most often just leave his eyes shut just so he wouldn't try to focus on anything and so his eyes just would stop hurting. His eyelids would occasionally become crusted shut with the pus-eye juice that oozed out of his overtly swollen eyes, but that was easily fixable with his hands. He could easily just pull his eyelids apart with his fingers, and it did hurt, but it was only minuscule pain compared to what it felt like when he honestly tried to focus on looking at anything. And even if he couldn't see, he could damn well hear incredibly well. Nobody was going to get the drop on him, even in this state.

Come to think of it, the Hunter hadn't heard anybody around lately. There had been gunshots in the distance, but he hadn't really thought they had gotten any closer until he stopped focusing on thinking about his eyes. Those gunshots were close. Really close. He hadn't honestly thought anybody would come through here again, the last time someone showed up they were torn apart and devoured by the horde of other undead beings that the Hunter had heard around him. They never payed him any mind, perhaps because they just knew what he was. Well, they could see properly, so it was probably a given that they knew what he was. 

The Hunter wanted to go after whatever was making the gunshots because gunshots usually signaled a sign of a good meal...but there was something he had to do first. Something that he hadn't really thought about until now.

He got up from his sitting position on a fire escape, and stood hunched over in a bestial gait. It wouldn't have felt normal if he had stood up all the way, then it would be dull, just like his life. His hands hadn't changed at all, sadly, and that would not make this any easier. He reached up and gently separated his eyelids, a small crack coming from the encrusted pus that had kept his eyes shut for about a day and a half now. He hissed quietly as his eyes began to throb at the sudden forced focusing.

He took a shallow breath, before going against what a few parts of his body didn't want to do. He had relied on his hearing mostly for a long time now, it wouldn't be any different after he was done.

He plunged each of his hands' long fingers into each of his eye sockets, and he pushed back until he felt something disturbingly mushy. He curled his fingers around the backs of his eyes, and pulled forward. His hands were soaked with a flow of liquid that had accumulated behind his eyes. His hands were stained with a mixture of pus and blood, an unpleasantly acrid smell filled the air as the long trapped juices were finally released from that small and confined space.

The Hunter looked downwards as he let it all flow out from his head, and took the opportunity to crush each of his now removed eyeballs in his fists. They were easily squashed, each eye making a sickening squelch as it was turned into the organ equivalent of jelly.

He stayed crouched in his bestial gait, a deep growl coming from his throat. He dropped his squashed eyes, and turned his head around like he was looking for something. After a moment of glancing about, he managed to pinpoint exactly where those gunshots were coming from: the alley just two buildings over from his. He could hear the shots getting closer and closer, and he knew just what he wanted now. 

He could hear a man's voice, the creaking of leather, the man was complaining about hating something...perfect. The perfect meal, and perfect target. A wicked snarl planted itself on the Hunter's face as he prepared to pounce down on his intended target. 

Dinnertime.

**Author's Note:**

> I play Left 4 Dead with a few friends a lot, this was the product of me thinking about the Hunter a lot. Plus, one of my friends thought it had eye stalks, so I had to put an end to her theory once and for all. I mean /eye stalks/? Really? That look would have ruined a good zombie, thank god it doesn't have eye stalks.


End file.
